The men who had followed Zhu Biao were horrified, but not one of them rushed forward. Instead, they all turned in unison and fled.
There was no helping it. Master Biao might have been fearsome, but he wasn't worth more than their own lives.
Besides, Zhu Biao ruled his men with an iron fist—the word "cruel" didn't even begin to describe him.
So when the time came, it was no surprise that no one was willing to die for him.
But as fast as they were, someone else was faster.
The little girl's father, clutching the bottle of wine, ran faster than a rabbit. In the blink of an eye, he burst through the door and dropped into a roll, attempting to tumble into a nearby reeking gutter to escape.
But a man can't outrun a bullet.
With a crack of a gunshot, the man's left leg was blown to smithereens. Blood and bone fragments sprayed for several meters as he began to roll on the ground, wailing in agony.
But his screams were short-lived.
